The Faded Sutra
The letter from the Guild lay on my workbench, the paper thick and cream-colored, smelling faintly of ink and bureaucracy. It was a refusal. Master Aldous Thorne’s signature, a jagged scrawl that looked like a lightning strike, sat at the bottom, denying my request to inspect the Great Cathedral Clock. The reason cited was "structural integrity protocols," a phrase that meant nothing to a man...
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